


The Acquisition

by StrangeDays



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, Forced Servitude, Frigga - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loki - Freeform, Loki Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki Whump, Loki is a Stepford Wife, Loki-centric, Mental Torture, Mind Control, Odin - Freeform, Odin's an ok dad in this one, Psychological Torture, The Warriors Three and Sif, Thor - Freeform, taneleer tivan - Freeform, the collector - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4579725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeDays/pseuds/StrangeDays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki has escaped his cell in Asgard and is on the run from the Allfather.  After spending several years as a fugitive, he comes to Knowhere to hide out.<br/>It doesn't take long for him to catch the eye of The Collector.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Going Knowhere

It was nearing midnight and the dungeons of Asgard had fallen silent, a pale reflection of the raucous activity occurring there during the day.   
The harsh cell lights always dimmed down immediately after supper. It was an unsubtle encouragement for the prisoners to cease their restless activity and lay down to sleep. This simple manipulation tended to work well, as most of the prison’s occupants were usually unconscious by nine or ten o’clock.   
Loki, however, ignored the guards’ condescending machinations as a rule. He hated being herded into any routine, no matter how inconsequential.   
Therefore it was not unusual to see him awake tonight, even at this late hour. What was unusual was the state in which he found himself, sprawled out upon the hard floor, limp and bleeding, and in no small amount of pain.   
He flicked his gaze over to the left, regarding his forearm with queasy satisfaction. A vicious wound was carved into the tender skin, ruined flesh gaping wide open from wrist to elbow as it spit blood everywhere.   
It had taken him almost two hours to tear apart the skin on his arm, using his teeth in the absence of any other viable weapon. He had systematically widened and deepened the wound, chewing on the limb with terrifying resolve until muscle and a small flash of bone peeked through.   
He waited for a guard to pass and see what he had done. Hopefully, if all went to plan, one of Odin’s lackeys would lower the protective barrier around his cell to check on him.   
The trickster gave a woozy, red-stained smirk, staring down at the damage.  
Warm crimson dripped off of his mangled arm in slow, steady rivulets, collecting beneath him in a grisly puddle and soaking the side of his tunic.   
He tensed as a sharp stab of pain began traveling up and down his arm. Gritting his teeth, he waited for it to pass.   
A whisper of insecurity began to set in.   
He knew very well that his escape plan was flimsy at best, a construct of desperation and despair. It was too reliant on disparate elements lining up in his favor and luck, unfortunately, had never been overly partial to him.   
Many of the men guarding the prisons despised him and he was sure, in fact, that the brasher of them would forego calling the healers altogether, preferring instead to watch him slowly bleed to death in his cell.  
Though at this point, Loki was all-too willing to take the risk. He was desperate to smell the fresh air again, to feel warm sunshine upon his skin. He would rather chance a slow agonizing death than spend one more day rotting in chains at the behest of his hated not-father.   
He shut his eyes against the low light.   
The blood loss was beginning to take its toll. Dizziness was setting in, and nausea tickled at the back of his throat. He swallowed thickly, his esophagus sticky and dry. The taste of blood was strong in his mouth.   
Suddenly, as if lured by Loki’s plight, the tell-tale footsteps of one of the guards making his rounds echoed throughout the silent dungeons. Whoever it was, they were moving at a maddeningly slow pace, casual in their patrol. The trickster tried not to scowl with impatience.  
He forced his muscles to slacken, pushing his arm away from his body so as to better display the gory wound.   
Slow, clipped footfalls echoed along the corridor before coming to an abrupt, shuddering halt somewhere near the trickster’s cage.   
“Oh, shit!”, the guard cursed loudly, anxiety coloring his tone.   
Loki fought down a smirk. He recognized the voice as belonging to Jaanes Berickson, the commander of the night watch.   
“Meare! Get out here!”, the man loudly barked, heedless of the other prisoners stirring in their cells.   
Meare Torinson, a young soldier who had joined the dungeon watch only a month ago, came from the guard’s station at the end of the corridor.   
“Yes, Commander Berick…son…?“ He trailed off. His eyes widened, falling upon the gruesome scene inside Loki’s cell.   
Jaanes dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder. “Run and fetch a healer, boy”, he told him, “Tell them Prince Loki is badly wounded, and in need of their immediate attention. Hurry, now!”   
“Yes, sir!”, the young soldier replied, his voice shrill with panic, “I shall return straightaway!”  
Loki forced himself to remain still as a corpse, listening as Meare’s footfalls grew ever more distant. He heard nothing further from the commander, and figured that the man was staring hard at him, trying to gauge his condition by sight alone.   
“Prince Loki, are you alive in there?” The words were weighted with thinly-veiled contempt.  
Loki stayed still, feigning unconsciousness. He heard the guard curse colorfully under his breath a few times.   
“My lord trickster, I do hope this is not some misguided escape attempt. I would dislike having to harm a son of Odin.”   
Despite himself, Loki found that he was greatly amused by the guard’s boldness. It rather reminded him of Thor.   
Minutes ticked by, and still the barrier remained up. Apparently, Commander Berickson was no fool.   
Loki lay still, listening to the mutters of his fellow prisoners, who were surely speculating about the dramatic goings-on.   
Distantly, he realized that he was starting to feel light-headed from the blood loss. A chill was also seeping in, bone-deep and paralyzing. A bad sign indeed. He wished that boy would hurry and return with a healer, so he could finish this.  
Finally, he heard pounding footfalls in the corridor, growing closer. Whoever it was, they were approaching at a run.   
“Commander, here are healers Greite and Freipp”, the young soldier Meare frantically introduced the healers, “They said they would help-“  
“Have you not taken pains to staunch the wound at all?”, one of the women asked sharply, “Gods, man, can you not see he is bleeding out?”  
The commander was certainly not accustomed to having his decisions questioned, especially by a lowly healer. “I did not think that...”   
“No, I suppose you did not think, Commander Berickson”, he was coldly interrupted, “I do hope, for your sake, that he will not die as a result of your incompetence. The Allfather would be extremely displeased.”   
“Open the barrier, then”, the second healer interjected, “We shall do our best to save him.”  
Loki could sense the heat of the soldier’s displeasure as he moved to obey.   
The trickster tensed ever-so-slightly, readying himself for action despite his grievous injury. He knew they would only leave the force-field down for a few seconds at most, though that should be all the time he required to open a portal.   
Loki barely breathed as he waited for the field to dissipate.   
Suddenly, he felt an acute shift in his body. His senses heightened, deepened. The moment the barrier’s low background din faded into nothing, a familiar electricity began to thrum deep in his bones.   
In the space of two seconds, he began to feel alive again.   
His bleary eyes slid open.   
He began murmuring an incantation just as one of the healers entered his prison, a kit filled with medical tools clutched in her thin hands.  
Pure elation filled him when Loki realized that his magic was under his command once more.   
Commander Berickson’s battle-scarred face twisted in horror as realization struck.  
“Get out, woman!”, he growled to the healer, who stood frozen, watching Loki cast with wide, terrified eyes, “We need to lower the-“  
They were the last words Loki heard before he fell away from Asgard and passed deep into the underbelly of Yggdrasil’s lesser-traveled pathways.

[xxxxxxx]

The trickster landed lightly upon a field of soft, fragrant grasses. He expelled the anxious breath he’d been holding and breathed in deeply, sweet, untainted air filling his lungs.   
He had transported himself to a tiny world, set out upon the very fringes of Yggdrasil. This place was still in its infancy, filled with primitive people and largely overrun by untamed wildlife.   
He had come here often in his younger days, whenever he’d needed to hide away from the rigors of court life. After all, no one judged him here. No one laughed at him, or whispered cruel things the moment his back was turned.   
He gazed around to take the measure of his surroundings. There were no settlements in the immediate vicinity, he saw, and no people anywhere, much to his great relief. Stumbling over to an alien-looking tree, he sank to the ground in pained exhaustion, allowing himself a moment to rest.  
He quickly set to healing himself, forcing a deluge of magic into the grievous wound. His mouth was a scowl of pained concentration as he fused muscle and skin back together, layer by shredded layer.   
As he worked, Loki pondered where he should jump to next. He knew that he couldn’t linger here for too long. He had taken care to teleport to a place far from any of Yggdrasil’s main branches, but it didn’t mean that Odin couldn’t track his magical signature, given time. He had to move, and keep moving.   
It took twenty minutes to complete the healing spell. When he finished, Loki scrutinized his work. The gash was completely healed, but there was a thick line of raised, pale flesh running the length of his forearm.   
He frowned. He had hoped to avoid scarring, though he supposed it was a small price to pay for his freedom.   
Rising to his feet Loki stretched, and let the reddish glow of the alien sun wash over him. He’d been locked away for over a year. Far too long. Now, liberated at last, he closed his eyes and let himself feel the warmth of the day.   
Giddy laughter bubbled up in his chest.   
The whole universe lay before him. It was time to start a new life now, one far away from the poisonous influence of the Allfather and his people.   
He viciously forced away lingering regrets, stubborn reminders that he would never see Frigga again, or Thor. None of that mattered anymore.  
Blood-stained lips twisted into a smirk as he began contemplating his next destination.   
None of the nine realms would do. The Allfather’s cronies would scour those worlds first. He would have to head somewhere more remote, some distant speck upon the world tree.   
Miora came to mind immediately. His smirk widened. Yes, that would be an ideal place to start.   
A small outlying colony of Alfheim’s that existed purely for purposes of exploration and knowledge expansion, he had visited it twice as a representative of Asgard, and recalled its residents being wonderfully accepting of magic-users.   
Loki knew he would have to be careful there. While he felt no impending threat from the colonists themselves, he reminded himself that Alfheim had close ties to Asgard, and that if he were recognized it could easily get back to Odin.   
He did hate being bothered with disguises, but knew it was a necessary evil, in this case.   
After considering his options for a moment, the trickster shifted his form into that of an elven woman, all sharp curves and high cheekbones and long, lustrous black hair. He also magicked his bloody prison garb away, replacing it with an elegant, high-necked robe of embroidered red satin and lace.   
Spinning about, he let himself acclimate to the more petite, feminine body. He would call himself Thea, he thought, a very common name amongst Alfheim’s people, and one of the twelve different words in elven that meant “starlight”.   
Ready to leave now, he made a small gesture, weaving delicate elf-maid’s fingers around and through each other in small, graceful circles.   
At the same time, he spoke a quiet incantation, his high, feminine voice resonating powerfully, commanding Yggdrasil itself to bend to his will.   
There was an almost-inaudible pop in the air, and a telling puff of twisting green smoke.   
The trickster disappeared, as if he had never been. 

[xxxxxxx]

Five blissful months passed.  
The elves had always welcomed strangers into their midst, and so Loki was not surprised that the colonists exhibited little suspicion at his sudden appearance amongst them.  
The trickster was grateful. After living so long amongst a people who despised him and thought him weak, it was refreshing to find himself rubbing elbows with scholars and mages and intellectuals.   
He could have happily remained in Miora for the rest of his life, but he knew he had to move on, lest Odin discover his presence.  
Loki transported his meager belongings into a pocket dimension. Then, he took one last glance around his small abode, to reassure himself that he’d left no evidence behind.  
Midgard was next. He’d seek out a large city there, some place where he’d easily be able to blend into the crowds.   
He tried on a few faces, finally settling on the visage of an elderly, dark-skinned gentleman with a shock of white hair, a portly physique, and a slight but noticeable limp.   
Satisfied that he was unrecognizable he teleported away, coming to rest in an abandoned alleyway that smelled of urine and garbage. It was night time.  
He adapted the strained gait of an old man and made his way towards the adjoining street, eager to find a bite to eat and some place to lodge for the night.  
He fought back a smirk. Odin would never find him here.

[xxxxxxx]

[2 Years Later]

Thirteen worlds, and thirteen identities, later, found Loki piloting a stolen Ravager craft into the gaping mouth of Knowhere. Known far and wide for its lawlessness and its criminal population, this place was notorious for the anarchic state its residents lived in.   
It should serve as the perfect hiding spot.   
He had never been here, either as a sheltered prince or a wanted criminal, and he had to admit that he was excited to see if the wilder stories proved to be true.   
Frustratingly, Odin had yet to let up in his hunt. Despite Loki’s efforts to evade him, there had been a very close call several months back. The trickster had spotted a small contingent of Aesir soldiers, trying to appear inconspicuous as they pushed their way through a marketplace crowd on Nidavellir.  
He had immediately teleported away, but he was left unsettled, wondering if he’d been spotted despite his dwarven facade.   
The long trip out to this place had allowed him time to recover from the consistent strain on his magic. He now wore the face of a bulky, overgrown troll, certain that the intimidating form would keep most of Knowhere’s residents at arm’s length.  
As he flew his small craft through Knowhere’s immense inner cavity, he found himself awestruck by its sheer size. There was an unceasing buzz of whirling activity all around him as thousands of pedestrians milled about below, past cobbled-together shopfronts and seedy-looking drinking establishments. Vehicles of all makes, sizes, and origins whizzed past him, some of them barely avoiding collisions with other, slower aircraft.   
A slow smile began to spread across Loki’s trollish features.   
This place suited him perfectly. He would fit right in here. 

[xxxxxxx]

Once he found a suitable docking port for his ship, Loki made his way towards one of the many nearby bars. He would have a drink or two, then ask the bartender if they knew where he might find suitable lodgings.  
He chose a drinking hole on the corner of two bisecting avenues. There was nothing to set this establishment apart from its nearby fellows beyond the fact that it boasted four sturdy walls and a front door. Most businesses in this section of town were nothing more than glorified tents, after all, reams of dirty cloth held up by poles driven into the ground.   
Loki lumbered towards the building, noting with satisfaction that people tended to avert their gazes or move back as he approached. He had chosen his disguise well.  
As he grew closer, he saw that there was a name painted on the front wall in a messy, almost childish scribble: The Corner Bar.  
Well they hadn’t put much effort into naming the place, the trickster thought bemusedly.  
He pushed the creaky door open wide, and was immediately assaulted by the unappetizing reek of sweat, alcohol, and rotting food. Forcing a scowl of disgust off of his face, he shut the door behind him and made his way through the nearly-empty room to the bar.  
“Ale”, he grunted to the bored-looking Calurnian serving drinks.  
“Money first”, came the reply, “It’s five credits.” He held out a furry hand, palm up, and stared at Loki expectantly.  
The trickster handed the credits over without comment. The barkeep pocketed them, then filled a clear stein to its brim with some discolored liquid that in no way resembled ale. As he slid it across to Loki, its contents sloshed out over the brim and soaked the bar’s sticky surface.  
Once the server walked away, Loki picked it up and sniffed experimentally. He frowned, placing it back down. The strange-colored beverage smelled disgusting.  
He decided to move things along, now that he had no intentions of consuming the fare offered here.  
With deliberate motions, Loki reached into his coin purse and pulled out a small pile of credits, placing them down upon the filthy bar top. The barkeep, suddenly eager to serve, returned without delay.  
“Can I get you something else?”, the man asked, golden cat-eyes darting down to the money laid out so enticingly before him.   
“Yeah, I need some information”, Loki said, copying the undignified rumbles he’d heard other trolls speak with in the past, “Y’know if there are any rooms being rented around here?”  
The Calurnian snatched up the money. “Yes, I know of a few. The closest is right down the road from here, actually. Guy’s name is Ventioun, and last I heard he was renting his upper floor out. Turn right when you walk out of here, then go down a block and a half. He has the only two-story building in the area.”   
Loki rose to his feet. “Thanks, guy.”  
He exited the foul-smelling bar and walked out onto the bustling street.  
He never noticed the shadowy figure in the bar’s back corner, staring intently at his back as he left.

[xxxxxxx]

The week passed uneventfully. Loki fit right in with the rough-and-tumble residents of Knowhere, enjoying the anonymity this place afforded him. No one ever questioned him here, or even afforded him a second glance.   
And there was no sign of Odin’s men, no barfly chatter of Asgardian soldiers pushing their way through the teeming crowds.  
Loki began to entertain the impossible hope that he had, perhaps, finally outmaneuvered the Allfather.  
Grinning at the thought, he lumbered down the packed avenue, his pace unhurried.   
He’d spoken to his landlord that morning, an elderly Yrd whose hunched frailty detracted from the intimidating appearance he’d surely boasted when he was younger. The old man informed him that there was a marketplace nearby where he could buy a range of items, from basic necessities to exotic trinkets. Having nothing else to do, Loki decided to visit it today to stock up on his dwindling supplies.  
Before leaving his room this morning, the trickster had counted out the contents of his purse, which he kept safely hidden away in a pocket dimension. His savings were alarmingly low. He’d have to find a source of income, and soon.   
Shrugging off his financial worries for now, he moved towards the shops, too-sharp troll eyes scanning the displays for items of interest.  
It was then that he noticed.   
A dark-clad figure was shadowing him at a distance, pretending to finger a display full of dull knives as he watched the trickster’s progress with worrisome intensity.  
Loki tensed, before forcing himself to visibly relax. How had the Allfather’s spies managed to find him so quickly?  
With controlled casualness, Loki feigned disinterest in the items he’d been perusing and moved on. He needed to lose himself amongst the crowd, but such a feat would be impossible with his current appearance.   
Turning a corner, he ducked behind the nearest stall and quickly changed forms, taking the face and body of a wiry humanoid male in dirty worker’s overalls. Ducking out onto the street again, Loki shuffled away, keeping his head down and forcing his feet into a weary plod as if he were just returning home from a long day toiling in one of the mines.  
He did not turn to look, but he could feel the hunter’s gaze burning into the back of his neck.   
Loki ignored his growing anxiety, continuing his journey into unfamiliar territory, mindlessly following the flow of the crowd. His mind was spinning, churning, trying desperately to come up with a plan.  
He could not simply teleport himself away, as he had done in the past. This place was far-distant from Yggdrasil’s main branches, and his magic was already taxed from constantly maintaining a glamour over his true features. Perhaps he’d be able to use a portal in a few days’ time, but not now. He’d have to find another solution.  
His thoughts were interrupted when he suddenly felt a burst of magic nearby, rolling over his sweat-dampened skin like a cold wind. Alarmed, he turned his head to spot the dark figure.   
The slim, black-clad man was standing right beside him, the bottom part of his face concealed by a cloth mask. Startled, Loki recoiled.   
There was another burst of magic, this time directed straight at him.  
He tried to react, to shield himself or to attack in turn, but it was too late.  
His muscles began slackening until he could no longer stand upright. His knees buckled, and he plummeted towards the hard ground.   
A pair of arms caught him around his mid-section and bore him up. He was roughly heaved over a lean, sculpted shoulder.  
Loki winced as foreign spells pushed their way under his skin, preventing movement or speech. He hung limply and stared at the ground, trying desperately to regain some control over his limbs.  
Another wave of magic fell over him without warning.   
Before he knew what was happening, he fell into a dark, heavy sleep. 

[xxxxxxx]

It felt as if he’d been slumbering for an age. It seemed eons had passed, the stars burning down to embers only to be born again, brighter.  
He couldn’t remember why he had fallen asleep in the first place. There were only the vaguest of impressions to fill any gaps in his memory. A thin man dressed in black danced on the edges of his recollection. There was a troll as well, large and ugly, with a dark tuft of hair protruding from its grayish skull.  
These were strange thoughts, but ultimately unimportant. He was sure that it would all come back to him later.   
Feeling well-rested Loki arched his back, lazily stretching his long limbs like a contented feline. He blinked his eyes open, allowing his vision to adjust to the dim light.  
The first thing he noticed was that his wrists had been clamped into a pair of heavy, rune-inscribed cuffs. Frowning, he scanned the markings etched into their surface, quickly determining that they were magic dampeners. Further inspection revealed no obvious means of removing them.   
He sat up, taking note of his bizarre surroundings for the first time.   
He had been placed upon a metal table in the middle of a cavernous room that was filled to the brim with lighted cages, all stacked haphazardly on top of each other. There were hundreds of the small enclosures, disappearing into the distance for as far as the eye could see. Each cell contained some variety of exotic creature or oddity.   
The trickster stared at the strange menagerie around him, amazed and horrified all at once. There was an albino dark elf. A frost giant, fire giant hybrid. A mortal with large wings sprouting from his back.   
The cages’ inhabitants stared off into nothing, their mouths slack, their eyes dead.  
Realization settled heavily in his gut as he suddenly remembered the black-clad stranger who’d attacked him in the street. His abductor had been a mage, and a powerful one, to take Loki by surprise like that. He’d known exactly how to strike in order to take him down. It was a troubling thought.  
“Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard, I presume?”, a heavily-accented voice sounded from the darkness. Startled, Loki instinctually reached for his throwing knives, only to find they were missing.   
He twisted around to face whoever had addressed him, his legs dangling off the side of the table.   
There was a pale man with a thick mop of unruly white hair leaning against the wall, regarding the trickster through a pair of strange-looking goggles. He was wrapped in a heavy fur, despite the warmth of the room.  
“I… believe you have the wrong man”, Loki cautiously replied.   
“I cannot fault you for exhibiting such prudent caution, though I assure you it is unnecessary here. I already know who you are. I have been to Asgard’s court, and have had a number of dealings with your father.” The odd man put a hand to his heart and bowed low from the waist, in a mocking show of respect. Loki scowled. “My name is Taneleer Tivan, and I am at your service, young prince.”   
The trickster noticed some of the imprisoned creatures shuddering imperceptibly, as if a cold wind had blown through their enclosures.   
“If you are truly at my service, Taneleer Tivan, then perhaps you might show me to an exit, and remove these while you’re at it.” He held up his cuffed wrists. “I am a busy man, after all.”  
“Oh, I do not doubt it.” Taneleer pushed off the wall and took a few steps towards Loki, his eyes never leaving the young prince’s face. “Evading the Allfather’s legendary Einherjars is busy work, after all. It’s a marvel that you have found any rest at all, these past years.”  
Loki narrowed his eyes. “And what would you know about that?”  
Taneleer gave a careless shrug. “Nothing, really. Only what I hear.”  
The trickster jumped down off of the table, glaring in challenge. “I hope you do not mean to threaten me”, he spoke softly, “That would not end well for you.”  
Another shrug. “No threats. Not from me.” Loki could not see the man’s eyes through those strange tinted goggles, but he had a feeling he was being closely appraised. “Though you should understand, young prince, that you are in grave danger from the greedy masses milling around like cattle outside of my door. They would tear you apart with their bare hands if they thought your head was worth something to someone.”  
“I see nothing to differentiate them from you, at this point.”  
“As you say”, he conceded the point with a nod of his head, “Regardless, let me prove my good will to you. I would like to offer you sanctuary here. You should know that none ever enter this place without my approval. You would be safe. Sheltered.”  
Loki threw a sidelong glance at a nearby cage. “I think not. I can see quite clearly the type of ‘shelter’ you provide.”   
Tivan smirked at the trickster’s wit. Turning about, he started to walk away, strolling down the room’s wide center aisle with unhurried, casual ease. “Come, Prince Loki, allow me to show you around. There is much to see, and very little time to do so. I must return to my work, you understand.”   
The trickster remained where he was, glaring at the man’s back. “Absolutely not.” He summoned every speck of princely indignation that he could, given the circumstances. “You will release me immediately, and you will refrain from revealing my presence here -“   
Tivan turned around, the sweeping movement powerful and deadly quick.   
Loki tensed, unnerved. His captor moved like a seasoned warrior.   
“Let me remind you, Prince Loki, I am not one of your subjects”, he said evenly, “As such, I do not bow to your demands. Your concerns are valid, and will be answered in good time. But for now, you will follow me this way. I promise, you will understand why you are here soon enough.”   
Loki’s patience snapped. “You have no right to keep me here against my will”, he said, taking a challenging step forward, “And if you are truly familiar with me, then you should know that I do not need my magic to kill you.”   
Tivan sighed, as if in disappointment. He directed his gaze over Loki’s shoulder, to one of the many shadowy conclaves in this place. “Asha, come.”  
The slender, masked figure who had brought Loki here slunk out of the darkness. He was putting off wave upon wave of powerful magic.   
“I would prefer that you come with me of your own accord, Prince Loki”, Taneleer said in a reasonable-sounding tone, “I’d like to avoid any reliance upon my servant’s… methods, which are effective, but admittedly dangerous and ill-advised.”  
Loki flinched as a tendril of stinging magical energy caressed the back of his neck, as if to punctuate Tivan’s warning.   
The trickster was smart enough to know when he’d been outmatched. Never removing his gaze from Taneleer’s magical crony, he replied, “Very well, then. Lead on.”  
The strange man gestured to the center aisle between the cages again. “This way.”  
Loki nodded warily, and followed.

[xxxxxxx]

He was getting a headache. The horrible, slow-building type of headache that nested itself firmly between the eyes and lingered stubbornly for hours.  
Loki blamed his captor. Tivan had spent hours walking Loki past cell after cell, explaining in detail where each specimen had come from and why they were of interest to his collection. All the while, Asha followed behind, a vigilant guard to his master.  
They came to a stop before yet another cage, where a young female elf with long, stringy blonde hair crouched in the corner, staring at nothing.   
“Here we have a female elvi-lisciona, known commonly as a ‘light elf’. She is of particular interest to me because she has a set of mutated reproductive glands.” The she-elf did not seem to notice that she was being discussed. She continued watching the ground with dull, half-lidded eyes. “Her ovaries and uterus bear particular resemblance to the reproductive organs of a human being, leading me to believe that there may have been cross-breeding in her family line at one point or another.”   
Loki put a hand to his forehead. He was feeling ill from the cuffs’ drain on his magic, weak and slightly nauseous, and was having trouble focusing on Tivan’s droning explanations. “It can also be noted”, the man continued, oblivious to his captive’s plight, “that only these particular organs have been affected by the inter-species mingling, an oddity in itself-”  
“Is there a point to all this?”, Loki tersely interrupted. Asha audibly shifted behind him, stepping forward into his peripheral vision. It was an obvious warning, one which the trickster chose to ignore.  
“A point?”, Tivan repeated, seemingly confused.  
“Yes, a point”, Loki spat, losing his patience, “Why are you bothering to show me around your depraved zoo?”  
“Not a zoo, young prince”, he chided, correcting him, “A controlled study of living, breathing anomalies.”  
“You may call it whatever you wish, but it will not change the fact that this is perversion in its highest form. Look at her!”, he stabbed a finger in the elf’s direction, “She is an empty shell, trapped in a display box for your amusement. Better that you had killed her.”  
“And what a waste that would have been”, he scoffed, “Honestly, the very idea that-“  
Loki attacked before Tivan could finish his sentence.   
Trying to catch him off his guard, the trickster lunged forward, a whirling dervish of long limbs and controlled grace.   
Before he could strike, however, the man moved, ducking out of the way with infuriating speed. Loki only managed to catch the flesh of his cheek under a thumbnail as he dodged the blow.   
Taking up a defensive stance, he spotted a thin line of blood dripping down Tivan’s chiseled jawline into the high collar of his garish fur.   
A cruel smirk twisted his pale lips. At least he had managed to draw first blood.   
Suddenly, a painful shock struck him in the small of his back, roughly knocking him to the floor. He tried unsuccessfully to rise to his feet, unable to suppress a breathy whimper.   
He cursed his own incompetence. How could he have forgotten the manservant at his back?  
Taneleer was very still, and quiet. He wiped at the blood upon his face, gazing down at the prone trickster.   
“Asha, Prince Loki is too overwrought to absorb anything further”, he addressed his servant, but kept his gaze steady on his prisoner, “Please bring him to his chamber. We’ll continue tomorrow.”  
Without another word he turned and walked away, worrying at the cut on his cheek.   
Loki stared after him, troubled.  
“You will come with me now, Prince Loki”, Asha rasped, drawing his attention. The mage’s voice showed the gritty roughness of ill use.   
Loki watched him closely, assessing, cataloguing. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of face lay underneath that mask.  
Limping slightly, he let Taneleer’s strange servant lead him back through the sea of cages, knowing that it would be ill-advised to make another escape attempt at the moment.   
As they walked, there was only the constant, low thrumming of the power generator and his own quiet shuffling footsteps on the uneven ground. It was notably discordant in the tomb-like atmosphere of this place.  
“Walk”, Asha said when his pace slowed. The simple order rang as a threat, in Loki’s ears.   
Refusing to be intimidated by the looming presence at his back, he squared his shoulders and did as he was told.  
They walked for an interminable amount of time, moving away from the cages and past the area where Loki had first awoken. Asha never said a word, unless it was to urge his prisoner along.  
Finally they came to a stop in a short, narrow hallway. The area was lit by weak electric sconces that flickered in a maddening staccato, serving to create more shadow than illumination.   
He was led towards the last room on the right. Asha opened the creaking metal door and gestured inside.   
Loki glanced at the cell, which was tiny and dark and devoid of anything but a piss-pot and a decrepit-looking cot. He returned his incredulous gaze to the masked servant.  
“I must admit, I have lived in a number of shit-holes since my emancipation from Asgard”, he spoke in a wry tone of voice, “Though this disgusting hovel appears to be worse than any of them. Well done, my friend. You truly know how to show a guest proper hospitality.”  
“Step inside, Prince Loki”, Asha said, unaffected by the goading remarks. Loki could not stop himself from recoiling as he felt the man’s invasive magic crawling warningly over his skin.   
The trickster shot him a corrosive glare.   
Aware that he currently had no other choice, he entered the cell. Turning about, he opened his mouth to spit a scathing insult at his masked captor.  
The door slammed shut in his face, trapping him in a cold, empty blackness that resembled the Void all too closely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A disturbing missive from Asgard arrives. The Collector stakes his claim over Loki.

Loki did not sleep, ignoring the exhaustion that had burrowed its way deep into his bones.  He lay very still on the hard cot, cold and uncomfortable, staring blindly off into impenetrable darkness.

He had no idea how long he’d been locked away in here.  It seemed a small eternity had passed, but time had no meaning in a place such as this, where sight and sound were strange, distant concepts.

Trapped in the maddening silence of his pitch-black cell, he had nothing to do but think, and regret the decisions that had brought him here. 

For some reason Thor loomed large in his musings, though he had not given the man a thought in quite some time.  His golden brother, made of sunlight and laughter and cheery good will. 

He wondered what Thor would do, were he to find himself in this situation.   

Loki imagined Odin’s voice, his tone carefully modulated to conceal disappointment, reminding him that his older son, his _real_ son, would never have allowed himself to be captured in the first place.

The trickster scoffed, tucking these lingering resentments away, resolving not to acknowledge them again.  After all, Odin’s opinion of him no longer mattered.  The Allfather was nothing more to him now than a prospective captor, and an enemy to be avoided at all costs.   

The muffled din of conversation pierced his dark reflections suddenly, traveling through his cell’s locked door from the corridor beyond.  Loki sat up sharply, his blind eyes roving back and forth, searching.       

The harsh clicks of a lock unlatching filled the small space, metal scraping smoothly against metal. 

Loki squinted, averting his eyes as the door was pushed inwards.  Dim light from the hallway poured inside as an imposing shadow moved to block the doorway.  

“Good evening, Prince Loki”, Taneleer Tivan greeted, “I trust that you have rested well.”

“I have not”, Loki replied, drawing himself up proudly, “Though I cannot understand why you would bother to inquire on the subject, as you seem to have little to no regard for my comfort, or well-being.  There’s certainly no use in pretending otherwise.”

Taneleer smiled.  “Honestly, young prince, you are far too canny for your own good.”

“Mmm, you _have_ met Odin before.”  He bared his teeth in an impressive sneer.  “You sound just like him.”

Tivan placed a hand over his heart.  “You do me too much honor, Prince Loki.”  He gestured for the trickster to join him in the hall.   

Loki complied, stepping out of his small cell with watchful trepidation.  He immediately spotted Asha, who was lingering in a shadowy enclave nearby.  “I see you’ve brought your loyal dog along.”

Tivan ignored the biting quip, sweeping back towards the main chamber, his long black fur trailing on the floor behind him.   “Come along, young prince”, he spoke over his shoulder, never stopping to see if Loki was following.  The trickster, bristling at being ordered about like a hound on a leash, opened his mouth to protest the rude treatment.  

Before he could say a word Asha shoved him lightly in the back, a clear threat.  He twisted around, glaring at his masked tormentor.  “Touch me again”, he bit out, “and you will lose your hand.”

“As you say, Prince Loki”, Asha replied, his tone rather more dismissive than the trickster liked.  He gestured.  “After you.”

Loki started walking, his hands balled into fists, every inch of his frame taut with indignant fury. 

When he freed himself, he would kill Asha first.  He would look forward to that, very much indeed.      

 

[xxxxxxx]

 

Loki followed Tivan away from his cell, into the area housing the cages.

They came to a stop at a small, messy workstation holding all manner of things, from stacks of paper and glass vials to scattered specimen reports and unlabeled key cards.  Taneleer was hunched over the desk, busily digging through the piles of junk and muttering to himself in a language Loki did not recognize.

“Ah, here!”, he exclaimed suddenly, pulling a sheet of rolled parchment out from beneath a scattered heaping of tiny, delicate-looking animal bones.  He held the paper out to Loki.

“And what is that?”, Loki asked, staring warily at Tivan’s offering.

“A gift, from Asgard”, he replied, “To her estranged princeling.”

The trickster froze, panic slowly beginning to creep into the edges of his thoughts.  Odin must have managed to track him down, then.  How?  And, more importantly, what actions did he mean to take, if he knew where he was?

Wary, Loki gazed down at the proffered document.  “You’re lying.  Asgard could not have sent that.  No one there knows where I am.”  The assertion sounded hollow, even in his own ears.

“I’m afraid that you’re mistaken”, Tivan commented off-handedly, “I contacted the Allfather last night, and we ended up having a very interesting and productive discussion.”  He held the parchment out again, rather insistently.  “It’s all here, in the letter.  He sent it just this morning, by messenger.”     

Loki opened his hand to receive the innocuous-looking document.  He studied the fine parchment with growing dread, recognizing the grain of the paper, as well as the crest imprinted upon the seal: two ravens, their wings intertwined.  It was the personal seal of Odin himself. 

Loki’s eyes narrowed as he suddenly noticed a hairline split, running the length of the wax imprint. 

“Why has this been opened, if it was intended for me?” he demanded, glaring.

“Ah, but it was _not_ intended for you, young prince”, he replied, “I simply share this with you out of courtesy.”

Loki scoffed at the man’s odd notions of _courtesy_.   He unrolled the parchment and began to peruse the note inside, noticing with dread that it was indeed written in the Allfather’s distinct scrawl.

 _Taneleer Tivan_ , it read, _Esteemed Collector and Proprietor of Rarities,_

_I, Odin Allfather, have received the message you sent regarding my son, Loki Odinson._

_I am relieved and grateful to discover that Loki is safe in your hands.  Asgard greatly appreciates the consideration you have shown her second prince, and will do her best to reward your generosity in the future._

_I have thought on your proposed trade agreement, and  I see no reason why we should not do business in this matter._

The trickster narrowed his eyes suspiciously.     

_A note:  the crates of magical weapons you offered are to be delivered via the Bifrost. I shall send a small battalion of trusted warriors to your location in two days’ time, to aid with their retrieval._

_In return, my son, Prince Loki Odinson, is to serve out the remainder of his prison sentence with you._

Loki’s breath caught in his throat. 

_As requested in your previous communique, he shall fill the role of assistant, acting as caretaker to your vast collection.  He shall also answer any additional needs that may arise in the interim._

_Conditional to this agreement is your assurance that he will not be harmed in any way, and your understanding that, should he come to be pardoned, you shall relinquish him to Asgardian authorities immediately._

_I will require written reports every two weeks, detailing his service to you, and confirming his health and well-being.  Failure to provide these reports shall constitute a violation of the contract, and its immediate termination thereof._

_The terms agreed upon by both parties also state that Prince Loki shall not be pardoned before a period of at least ten standard years has passed._

_Please know that violation of any of these terms is grounds for the contract immediately being declared null and void.  Additionally, should the contract be forcefully voided, the party at fault shall pay restitution to the other in the form of weregild.  The amount of this restitution shall be determined by the severity of the offense._

_I look forward to more prosperous relations in the future._

_Signed,_

_Odin Borson, Allfather and Ruler of the Nine Realms_

Loki stared down at the parchment in wide-eyed dismay, scanning its contents again and again as if hoping that the words would shift to something less damning.  The print remained stubbornly in place, mocking him.

A cold rage began to fill him as he pondered the letter’s implications.  The Allfather had _sold_ him to this man, for _weapons_.    

Loki saw only spite in Odin’s actions here.  After all, the trickster had long-outlived his usefulness to Asgard, laying waste to the Allfather’s carefully-laid plans for him and railing against every convention placed upon him as an Asgardian, and as a prince. 

Surely, Odin was furious at such blatant defiance from his own, so-called son.  It was obvious that he was trying to make Loki regret ever stepping out of line.  Frantic laughter began bubbling up in his throat, a mad, breathy noise that rose steadily in volume and agitation.  Loki crumpled the paper in his hand and forcefully lobbed it in Tivan’s direction, satisfied to see it bounce lightly off of the man’s forehead.

“So I am to be your slave, then”, he spat, his tone thick with contempt.

“’Slave’ seems overly-harsh.  No, I do not hold with slavery at all”, Tivan grimaced, as if in distaste. “I suppose, if you must confine our arrangement to traditional terms, you may think of yourself as a long-term guest in my home, one who must earn his keep in order to remain.”  The intensity of his gaze upon Loki grew uncomfortable.  Tivan’s dark eyes raked down over the trickster’s pale features.  “You know, you should actually be relieved, all things considered.  I am rather certain that, had you been re-captured by the Asgardians, Odin Allfather would have had no recourse but to sentence you to death.  This way, he has been provided with an alternative, one which could not be construed as favoritism by Asgard’s enemies.” 

“I would prefer death to _this_ ”, he ground out, “I am no one’s property, and least of all yours.”

“But you are mistaken, young prince”, Taneleer replied, his tone soft, steady, “You are my servant now, bought and paid for in fair trade.  And you shall serve me and my interests, until such time as the Allfather chooses to release you.”  

“Put me back in that cell if you insist on keeping me here!” Loki snarled, “I will not comply with the terms of this agreement.”

“Your compliance is not needed.”  He turned away, moving towards a door tucked into the farthest corner of the cavernous room.  “Asha, bring him.”

One of his arms was taken roughly by Taneleer’s manservant, who had crept up soundlessly behind him.  Loki instinctually tried to pull out of the hold, but Asha wrenched his arm upwards, pulling until his forearm rested painfully against the dip between his shoulder blades.  He found struggling to be completely ineffectual, since hot spears of pain shot up his arm every time he moved. 

“Release me immediately!” the trickster demanded, trying to disguise the pained waver in his tone.  He was marched towards the shadowy door, the pressure upon his tortured limb practically forcing him to walk up on the tips of his toes.     

Once they reached the doorway, Asha released Loki’s arm and shoved him inside.  He stumbled, barely managing to catch himself before he went pitching forward onto the floor.

Before he could turn to challenge the masked thug, Loki heard the door slam shut behind him, leaving him alone in the small room with Tivan.  He glanced around the dank, empty chamber, the faint smells of mold and rot irritating his nostrils.

His eyes were immediately drawn to a series of runes which had been drawn on the walls with fading red paint.  They seemed to be magical in nature, though he was frustrated to find that he did not recognize the runic dialect.    

Tivan stood in the corner, stoically watching him.  He said nothing.

Loki’s gaze flitted back and forth between his captor and the ominous marks all around him. 

“What-“

Suddenly, a sharp, high-pitched tone sounded, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.  Loki slammed his hands over his ears, trying to block the piercing noise out.  A panicked grunt escaped his lips when he found that he could not.  It continued at the same volume no matter what he tried, making him wonder if the awful sound was coming from inside his own head. 

Tivan, unmoved by the piercing noise, continued to stare fixedly at his captive. 

At some point, Loki fell to his knees and curled himself protectively against the wall, tucking his long limbs into a fetal position and trying to cover his head in the process.  The noise had grown worse, louder and more grating, somehow. 

The faded runes on the walls seemed to pulsate and throb, like a sinister heartbeat.

Oddly, when Tivan began to speak to him the pitch abated, though only enough so that Loki could hear what he said.

“This is the meditation room, Prince Loki”, he said calmly, “I find that it is an excellent place for relaxation, as well as self-reflection.  It seems to me that you might benefit from both.”  He paused, tilting his head to one side as he watched his prisoner writhe in agony on the floor.  “You must understand, princeling, this is not Asgard, and I am not a simpering courtier who will bow blindly to your will.”

The moment he stopped talking, the torturous sound doubled in strength.  Loki let out a garbled noise of distress.

Tivan crouched by his side and regarded him closely.  “I have faith that you will come to see things my way, Loki.”  Almost affectionately, he pulled an errant strand of hair away from the trickster’s forehead.  “You will, soon enough.”

He rose, leaving him there on the floor.  After opening the door, Tivan turned back to the room and balled his hand into a tight fist, holding it up towards the ceiling.

The lights flickered, then died.  Loki tried to quell the rising panic as he watched his captor spin on his heel and leave, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Loki curled into a tight little ball on the floor, hands clamped uselessly over his ears.  Face wet with tears he hadn’t consciously shed, he waited for unconsciousness to claim him.

 

[xxxxxxx]

 

Time passed slowly in his dark prison.

The agonizing sound never ceased, drilling its way into his skull, driving him mad.  He knew that the noise was somehow magical in nature, that it must be connected with the runes.  He would have tried to scratch some of them off, but he was trapped in the dark.  He couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face, let alone the markings on the wall.

Frantic with the need to get out, Loki crawled towards the tiny sliver of light bleeding in through the space beneath the locked door.  He scratched and pounded at the metal until his fingernails bled.  He screamed for release, cursing them, bellowing obscenities in twenty different languages.

No one ever came.  His pain continued.

The trickster curled up on the floor near the doorway, covering his head protectively and shutting his eyes. 

 _Eventually they’ll come_ , he told himself, trying to disregard his rising desperation. _Odin specified that no harm was to come to me.  Eventually they’ll have to let me out of here.  Then, they’ll have to face what they’ve done._

He was not comforted by these thoughts.

Time passed, though he could not have said how much.

Without warning unconsciousness began to slip in once again, smooth and slow, like a knife beneath the ribs.  He welcomed it gladly.

 

[xxxxxxx]

 

He was awakened by the sound of locks being opened on the other side of the door.

Hands still clamped over his ears, he forced himself to slide backwards a bit, lest he be struck when the heavy portal swung inwards.      

It took him several seconds to realize that the torturous noise had stopped.

The trickster felt weak and completely wrung-out, as if he’d been ill for a long period of time and was just now beginning to recover.

The door swung wide, letting in a broad swath of light from the adjoining chamber.  Loki blinked, trying to adjust his vision.  When his sight finally cleared, he saw Tivan standing in the doorway, looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

“I trust you’ve had sufficient time to calm yourself, Prince Loki”, he said in his accented drawl.

The trickster forced himself to sit upright, glaring at the man looming over him.  “I suppose that would depend on your definition of ‘calm’”, he replied, his aristocratic voice a torn wreck of its former self.  His famed silver tongue felt dull and heavy in his head.

Tivan gave an amused smirk, despite himself.  “Shall I give you another day in here then, to meditate on your shortcomings?”  He did not miss Loki’s nervous swallow at the thinly-veiled threat.

The trickster got to his feet shakily, placing his hand on the wall for support.  His knees felt like jelly.  “Odin’s letter stated that I was not to be harmed in any way”, he said, “Need I remind you of the conditions of your damned agreement?”

“Do not be a simpleton, princeling”, Tivan stated airily, “I am well-aware of the terms of our accord, and they have not been violated.  You bear no wounds, nor do you harbor any ill effects from your time spent here.”

Loki took a small step forward.  “The Allfather does not suffer liars, Taneleer, nor does he long-tolerate criminals who attempt to cheat him.”

The man gave a careless shrug.  “Oh, I do not doubt that, young prince.”  He turned away and cocked his head to the side, speaking to Loki over his shoulder.  “You must be weary, and hungry as well.  Come.  Asha shall take care of your needs.”

Loki stayed where he was.  “I am not going anywhere with you!  This idiotic charade is over, here and now.  I demand to be shown to a communication device-“

Tivan spun about, moving with the unnerving grace and agility Loki had noticed the first time he’d met him.  “As I have previously stated, young prince, you do not make demands of me.  Must I truly give you another lesson in basic manners?”

Loki deemed it wisest to back down, despite the effect it had on his battered dignity.  He made no reply, scowling at his hated captor, before roughly shouldering his way past Tivan.

Asha met him at the door.  “This way, Prince Loki.” 

Loki trailed him, warily, Taneleer just a few steps behind.  “Show him to the guest chambers, Asha”, he instructed. “I will come by later to check up on him.”

The strange manservant bowed in response.  “Yes, master.”  He turned his dark gaze to Loki then.  “Please follow me.”

Stiff with anger, he followed Asha into yet another maze of narrow, ill-lit hallways.  Tivan walked with them for a bit, a threatening presence at the trickster’s back.  Eventually, he fell behind.  Loki heard him unlock, open, then close one of the many unmarked doors.  When the trickster looked back, he was gone. 

His innate curiosity nagged at him, urging him to try and see what lay behind that closed door.  It was a foolish notion, he knew, and one that would only cause him torment in the end.  He decided to turn his attention to Asha instead, hoping to trick him into revealing something about this place and its strange inhabitants.     

“You’re very loyal to him.  He must be a good master to you,” Loki said, trying to sound casual, and not at all like he was trying to manipulate information out of his captor.

Asha didn’t turn around.  He let out a short, breathy laugh before replying, “Oh?  Do you think so?” 

Loki waited.  When Asha said nothing else, he responded, “I don’t know what to think.  Perhaps you might tell me something about him.  I find that I am at a distinct disadvantage here, after all.  He seems to know everything about me, and yet I know nothing of him.”

“He will tell you what you need to know in his own time.”

Asha stopped walking then, turning to a gray door at his right.  It had been carved into the surrounding wall, and did not exhibit any signs of handles, locks, or even hinges.  Loki watched attentively as the manservant placed a palm onto the plain exterior.  The door abruptly swung inwards, revealing a small, comfortable-looking chamber with a bed, a table, a single bookshelf, and a curtained bath area.

“Would you like to take some rest now, Prince Loki, or shall I bring you a meal?”

“I’ll sleep”, Loki replied, hungrily eyeing the inviting bed.

“Very well, then.”  Asha gestured inside, shooting him an expectant look.

The trickster didn’t trust him, not for a second, but he found that he was too exhausted to argue.  He entered the warmly-lit room without hesitation.  Only when the door had shut firmly behind him did he take two long strides towards the bed, collapsing onto its blessedly-soft surface.

He fell asleep almost immediately, not even bothering to remove his boots or his worn, leather coat.

 

[xxxxxxx]

 

He opened his eyes many hours later.  Not feeling ready to move quite yet, he stretched out and settled himself a bit more firmly into the soft mattress, expelling a blissful sigh as his joints gave a series of pops and cracks. 

This was the best he’d felt in _months._

“Feeling better, young prince?” 

Loki sat up so suddenly that blood rushed to his head, making him dizzy.  He twisted around, his startled gaze settling on Taneleer Tivan.  The odd man was lounging in the corner, sitting cross-legged on a high-backed wooden chair. 

“How long have you been there?” Loki asked, cagy and defensive.

“Long enough.”  He smiled enigmatically.  “Come, I’ve brought you something to eat.”  He gestured at the small table, where a loaf of bread and a sizable bowl of warm broth sat, waiting to be consumed.

Loki’s gaze lingered on the offering.  “I’m not hungry”, he protested, his voice holding little conviction.

“Nonsense,” scoffed Tivan, “It’s been days since you last ate anything.  You must be absolutely ravenous.” 

The trickster raised his chin imperiously.  “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Such a stubborn child”, the man sighed, lips pursed in annoyance, “I suppose I’ll just leave it here then.  You’ll have to eat eventually.”

Loki bristled at the “child” moniker, though Tivan didn’t seem to notice.

“To business, then”, he said, sitting up and clapping his hands together sharply, “We have some things we must discuss, if you are to stay on with me.”

“Ah, but I have no intentions of doing so.”

Taneleer ignored him.  “There are certain rules that all who take up residency here must adhere to.  This is as much for their safety, as it is for my peace of mind.” 

Loki scoffed.  “If you believe I’m going to take orders from you-“

“Let us begin,” he spoke right over Loki’s objection, “with Rule Number One.  You are never, under any circumstances, to enter Level 13.  It is off-limits.  Do you understand?” 

Loki grinned sharply.  “And why might you feel the need to hide whatever is on Level 13?” Loki purred, goading him, “Perhaps the Allfather would be interested to know about this-“

“You should know”, Tivan went on calmly, “that if you ever feel the need to venture there, I will know,” he leaned forward in his seat, gaze intense upon Loki’s face, “And I do not take disobedience lightly.”  The trickster felt an uncomfortable chill in the air, one that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. 

Tivan sat back, apparently satisfied that his point had been made.  “That brings us to Rule Number Two: you shall not attempt to interact with any of the subjects on display.  If one of them attempts to engage you in conversation, you will ignore them.  If you notice sickness or injury you are to report it directly to me, and it shall be promptly addressed.  Never attempt any healing on your own.”

Loki sighed dramatically, dropping his chin into his hand and affecting boredom. 

Tivan appeared irritated by his prisoner’s continued lack of respect, but did not comment on it.  “Rule Number Three”, he went on, “You will not antagonize Asha.  I have noticed the two of you glaring at one another, and I will not abide it.  You do not have to like each other, but I will not endure the petty squabbles you seem apt to incite.  Settle it, or take extra care to avoid him, but do not test me in this.  I have little patience, and less time, for such childish disputes.”

The trickster rolled his eyes.  “Fine, fine,” he agreed, sounding very put out.

“Finally, and most importantly, there is Rule Number Four.”  Tivan watched Loki closely.  “You will obey me, in all things.  You will not object to orders you deem questionable.  You will not object at all, in fact.  You will be quick to respond, polite, and efficient in completing the tasks I assign to you.  Anything less will be met with retribution.”

“Such _threats_ , Taneleer,” Loki said quietly, “You should be careful.  The Allfather has eyes everywhere.”  He looked upwards, gaze running over the featureless ceiling in dramatic fashion.     

“If you are referring to Asgard’s all-seeing gatekeeper, I’m afraid I must inform you that he is quite blind here.  No scrying methods of any kind are capable of penetrating the walls of my home, as there are powerful enchantments set upon its perimeters.  I’m actually surprised you didn’t notice them before.”

“Yes, how strange,” Loki said dryly.   He held up his wrists, as if to remind Tivan of the magic-blocking cuffs he’d been locked into.   

“Yes.  Well, then.”  Taneleer stood.  He rolled his shoulders and twisted slightly to the side, stretching his muscles until an audible crack pierced the still air.    

The trickster scowled at him. 

Tivan began walking towards the door.  As he placed his hand to the locking mechanism he glanced back, speaking over his shoulder.  “Tomorrow, you shall begin your work, Prince Loki.  I suggest you eat, and then get some more sleep.  You’re going to need your strength.”

The door swung open, and Tivan exited into the hallway, quickly shutting it behind him.  The silence left in his wake drew out like a knife. 

The trickster stared after him, his expression darkening.

He stood there eyeing the locked door of his prison cell (whether they chose to call it that or not was irrelevant), rage beginning to trickle in past his well-maintained defenses, slow but steady.

The strain of years spent on the run, of being forced to hide his face and live in temporary shelters on the fringes of society… it all suddenly crashed over him like a tidal wave. 

And now, _this_ ; Odin had dropped him into the hands of a tyrannical despot who obviously had no qualms about torturing him, provided there was some way for him to explain it away later.  Yes, the old man was surely having a laugh at his expense back in Asgard.   

Enraged, Loki sprang to his feet and snatched up the bowl of soup sitting on the table, hurling it at the wall with all his strength.  It smashed apart in a dazzling shower of glass and splattered broth.    

Pointedly ignoring the loud rumblings of his empty stomach, he watched apathetically as the remains of the soup dripped down the wall and puddled upon the floor.

He hated this place. 

He hated Odin for putting him here. 

He hated Tivan for feeding into the cruel manipulations of his not-father.

He hated his mother and Thor for allowing this to happen.

He hated.

 

[xxxxxxx]

 

When Asha came to fetch Loki early the next morning, he found him curled up into a tight ball on the bed, still wearing his clothes from the previous night.  His hair was a limp, tangled mess upon the pillow; it framed his pale face like a dark halo.  He did not stir at the sound of the door opening, or at his captor’s entrance into the room.  

Asha quirked an eyebrow, running his eyes over the gloppy soup stains coating once-pristine walls.  He noticed shattered glass littering the floor, and stepped carefully in an effort to avoid the shards.

He made his way over to the bed and grabbed hold of Loki’s shoulder, shaking it roughly.  “Time to get up, Prince Loki.”

Loki gave a sleep-thickened groan before rolling over, his back to Asha.  His breathing evened out as he fell back to sleep.      

Unperturbed, Asha loudly repeated himself.  “Prince Loki, it is time to get up.”

Loki’s only reply was a near-inaudible snore.

Asha sighed, before leaning down to firmly wrap his arms around Loki’s waist.  He forcefully dragged him across the bed, before pulling him off the edge of the mattress and down onto the soup-spattered floor. 

Indignant, sputtering, the trickster shot to his feet.  “What in the nine _hells_ -!“

“Now that that’s been taken care of, I’ll show you to the washroom so you can freshen up”, Asha said mildly, “Quickly, please.  There is much to be done this morning.” 

“I should kill you for such effrontery”, Loki replied, his silken tone holding terrible promise.

“Perhaps you should.  Another time, though.” Asha took a step back, towards the doorway.  “We should go, Prince Loki.  Time, and the master’s patience, grows short.”

“Damn his _patience_!  Damn yours!” Loki spat contemptuously. “I will not bend the knee to that megalomaniacal-“

“Careful, prince”, came the softly-spoken interruption.  A threat, if Loki had ever heard one.

The two men glared at one another for a long, uncomfortable moment.    

Asha finally said, “I suggest we go.  If you do stay on here, you will learn that the master greatly values promptness in his servants.  He is a busy man, after all, and has little time to dally around with the help.”

“Industriousness is an admirable quality, I suppose”, Loki said dismissively, “Though, I am not one of his servants.”

Asha turned around.  He opened his mouth as if to say something, before shutting it again.  “We really must go, Prince Loki”, he said finally, his tone quite somber, “I would suggest that you do not make me ask you again.”

The trickster suddenly felt Asha’s peculiar magic brushing across the nape of his neck, a palpable warning that Loki knew he would be forced to heed, whether he wanted to or not. 

Disgusted with his own pathetic vulnerability, he followed Asha out into the hallway.

“After you”, he sneered, mockingly indicating that the man should lead the way.

They went a short way down the hall, their destination a small, white-tiled bathing room.  He was handed a simple set of clothes and told to wash and dress quickly.  Grabbing up the plain attire, he wheeled around and stomped into the room like a petulant child, slamming the door behind him with all his strength.

He bathed and dressed, doing his best to make himself presentable.  When he emerged from the bathing room a full half-hour later, he found Asha calmly leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for him. 

They made their way back towards the main chamber, a tense silence settling in.    

The two of them walked a considerable distance through the circuitous hallways of Tivan’s lair, Loki trying and failing to map their route as they went. 

“Stop here for a moment”, Asha said, coming to a stop before a plain metal door that was set off to their right.  The portal was no different from the hundred other featureless doorways they’d passed, and Loki wondered absently how anyone ever found their way around in this place.  He pulled it open and gestured for Loki to enter.

“What’s in there?” Loki asked warily, eyeing the sinister-looking entranceway.

“Breakfast”, Asha replied simply, gesturing him inside once more.

Loki’s stomach grumbled loudly at the unexpected mention of food.  He entered the room in front of Asha, walking slowly as he ran his eyes over the room’s features.  There was a high, shadowy ceiling over-arching a row of large ovens, and a long, metal worktable in the center of it all.  

Seven aproned workers moved mechanically about the place, chopping vegetables, stirring simmering liquids in pots, removing bread from the ovens with great flat wooden boards.  Uneasily, Loki noticed that their eyes were glazed-over, as if they had been drugged, or put in a trance of some kind.  No one spoke, all of them single-mindedly focused on their given tasks.   

They did not seem to notice his or Asha’s presence.

Asha, unaffected by the sentient automatons working here and there, made his way over to a tray of fresh tarts that had been left to cool on the counter.  He nibbled at one in an almost dainty manner, gesturing for Loki to do the same.

The trickster ate his fill, washing the tarts down with a cup of sweet tea that Asha placed before him.  The entire time, he watched the men and women move about the kitchen, seemingly unaware of the presence of the newcomers.

“What is wrong with them?” Loki finally asked, smoothly stepping out of the way of a broad-shouldered cook who nearly ran him down on his way to the ovens.  “They don’t seem to notice our presence.”

“The master does what he must to enforce loyalty”, Asha said, pointedly averting his gaze from the men and women laboring around them, “These people all fell out of his favor at one point or another.  Now, they are docile, unquestioningly obedient.”  He paused, perhaps to emphasize his next words.  “You would do well to take note.”

“Would I?” Loki replied, a touch snidely.

Asha shrugged and took a sip of his tea.  “Of course, you may take my words at face value or not, as you wish.  But I tell you that you should not get on the master’s bad side.  He will make you regret it.”

“Are you, perhaps, speaking from experience?” the trickster asked, a slow grin making its way across his face.

Asha shrugged again, expressionless, before turning to walk towards the door.  “Come, we must go.  We are going to be late.”

Loki followed him, secretly relieved to be leaving the room of strange, dead-eyed thralls behind.

 

[xxxxxxx]

 

Eventually, they reached the chamber where the captive specimens were caged.

Tivan, Loki saw, was back at the messy workstation he’d seen a few days prior, his attention rapt upon an ornately-carved metal sphere.  It floated above the desk’s surface, contained by an anti-gravity field.  Loki took an unconscious step backwards.  The thing seemed to throb and pulse, as if it had a heartbeat all its own.  

Tivan had not seemed to notice them yet.  He was gingerly prodding at the mysterious object, his long, agile fingers making their way around its center, as if searching for something.   

“What is that?” Loki asked quietly.

Asha glanced at him briefly, before turning his gaze back towards his master.  “It’s not my place to know such things”, he whispered, “Nor, I might add, is it yours.”

“Indeed.  Well-said, Asha.”  Tivan broke in.  Loki watched closely as the man whispered a quiet incantation and waved his hand over the orb, transporting it into what was probably a pocket dimension. 

He turned around, his gaze falling upon the trickster.  “You need not concern yourself with the particulars of my acquisitions, Prince Loki, beyond aiding in their general upkeep.  The sooner you learn this, the better.”  

The trickster’s smirk was decidedly frigid.  “I see.  Just to be clear, is that Rule Number 5?  12?  53, perhaps?  I think I’m starting to lose track of all the half-baked statutes you’ll be expecting me to abide by while I’m here.”

Tivan did not reply to the trickster’s goading, choosing instead to change the subject.  “Direct your attention to Sector A, if you would.”  He gestured vaguely towards a row of cages somewhere above them.  “You will be working there today.”

“Oh?  Doing what, precisely?” Loki asked, his mood abruptly turning dour. 

“Cleaning.  It’s been almost two weeks since the interiors of those enclosures last received a proper scrubbing.  They’re beginning to put off a faint smell.” 

Loki scowled at this new humiliation.  “What do I look like to you?  A scullery maid?”

“Of course not.”  Tivan’s features twisted into a smile, one that did not reach his eyes.  “You look like an indentured servant to me.  One who owes me his obedience.”

Loki’s mouth tightened in aggravation.    

“Of course, if you would prefer it,” Tivan continued, “I could arrange another session for you in my meditation room, instead.  An extended stay, of course.  Nothing but the best for Odin’s son.”

Loki’s eyes lit up with indignant fury.  “How _dare_ you-“

Tivan sighed dismissively and turned back to his workstation.  “I haven’t the time for this.  Asha, if you would direct Prince Loki to Sector A, please.”  The strange orb appeared with a sudden, sharp flick of the man’s wrist, rematerializing inside of the anti-gravity field.  “I’ll come to check up on you later, prince.  I expect there to be significant progress by the time I get there.”    

Tivan said nothing else, immersed once more in his study of the object before him.  It was an obvious dismissal. 

The trickster stayed where he was, stunned by the man’s brash callousness.    

When he didn’t move immediately, Asha grabbed firm hold of Loki’s upper arm and tried to usher him away.  He snarled, yanking his arm out of the masked man’s grasp. 

“We must go, Prince Loki”, the manservant persisted urgently, his words a frantic whisper, “Defying him now will only cause you to suffer needlessly.  Come.  I will show you what must be done.”    

Struck dumb by his rapidly mounting rage, Loki allowed Asha to guide him towards a nearby lift that would bring them to the higher levels.  He glared back hatefully over his shoulder, his gaze never leaving Taneleer’s still form.

He would not abide this insult.  He would _not_. 

Forcefully pulling his arm out of Asha’s grip, Loki increased his pace, refusing to be led about like a simpleton or an invalid. 

Let Tivan think he had won for now, Loki told himself as he entered the small elevator.  Let him gloat. 

Soon enough, he would burn for this.           


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki begins his work for Tivan in earnest. A conversation is shared over dinner. A mysterious bet is made, and lost.

A week went by, then two, the days passing by in slow, miserable drudgery.   
Loki had been reluctantly swept up by the arduous routines of his new prison. Every morning at precisely 5:00, Asha would come to his door with a tray of sugary tarts and sweet tea. When they had both eaten, he would escort the trickster to the cages, show him what to do, and stand guard as he worked.   
Always, Loki was engaged in the care of Tivan’s unfortunate pets. He cleaned cages, dropped off food, sometimes helped to groom those prisoners who were in dire need of it.   
It was filthy, grueling work, and he despised it.  
He tried many times to engage Asha in conversation about his captor, but the man was infuriatingly stubborn in his refusal to answer any queries about Tivan, or his reasons for wanting Loki imprisoned here. Eventually, the trickster stopped asking.   
As time went on, Loki’s work took him deeper and deeper into the immense complex. At first, he tried paying close attention to the layout of the corridors, putting a great deal of energy into mapping them in his mind. He quickly found, however, that memorizing routes in this place was an impossible feat for one unaccustomed to its design. The strange, twisting halls had no logic to their arrangement, as if they had been randomly thrown together with no thought to their day-to-day navigation. If he attempted an escape in this nightmarish labyrinth, he thought grimly, he might never find his way out again.  
And so, he decided to keep his head down and wait for an opportunity to present itself, confident that his ever-present guard would slip up sooner or later.

[xxxxxxx]

Everywhere he went, an army of unobtrusive thralls worked around him, no more responsive than the servants he’d seen laboring in the kitchen days ago. They seemed not to notice Loki whenever they shuffled past, their arms laden down with heavy piles of thick cloth, stacked meal trays, or cleaning supplies.   
The trickster always tried to avoid them, if possible. They made him feel uneasy.  
He couldn’t help but wonder if Odin had known about Tivan’s army of slaves when he consigned his son to the man’s tender mercies.  
“Stop here, Prince Loki.” Asha’s voice suddenly broke into his grim thoughts.   
Rolling his eyes at the man’s sanctimonious tone, Loki obeyed, staring in disgust at the twitching mass of writhing tentacles and translucent, fleshy tissues imprisoned within the clear enclosure.   
“Please make sure to give the walls a good scrubbing,” Asha said as he stepped up to the cage and swept his pointer finger across a small, rectangular panel. The internal lock mechanism gave an audible click as it opened. “This one has a particular fondness for urinating everywhere.”   
“And how might that be different from the last thirteen beasts whose cages I just scrubbed out?” Loki bitterly retorted. He dropped his weighty bucket of cleaning supplies onto the floor next to the cell, swallowing back a surge of nausea as the door swung wide and the smell hit him full force.  
Breathing through his mouth in an effort to shut out the choking reek of urine and filth, he climbed up into the cage’s warm, sticky interior. He dipped a cloth into the bucket of soapy water at his feet and got to work, ignoring the shapeless pile of mottled flesh huddled up in the corner behind him.   
Asha leaned against a support beam across the hall. Settling in for a long wait, he amused himself by idly conjuring small balls of light between his hands and setting them to dance across his long fingertips.  
His gaze never once strayed from the lean muscles of Loki’s back, shifting beneath the cloth of his sweat-soaked shirt as he scoured the cage clean. 

[xxxxxxx]

That night Loki collapsed as soon as he was locked in, lying in an exhausted heap over the middle of his mattress, his head hanging down off one side of the bed. Upside-down, he studied his prison, gazing at the plain white walls, the small round table for one, the curtained washroom.   
It was a depressing view.  
Eventually, the trickster forced himself to roll over onto his stomach. He shot a sidelong glance at the covered tray of untouched food sitting on his table, apathetically debating whether he should eat, or just continue to lay there until he fell asleep.   
Suddenly, the sound of bolts sliding open shattered the silence. Taken by surprise, Loki gracelessly stumbled to his feet. When the door opened, he was surprised to see Tivan standing there, donning those foolish-looking goggles and a waist-length jacket of thick white fur that completely enfolded his torso and made him look twice as large as he actually was.   
“Hello again, Prince Loki”, the man said in his strange, unplaceable accent. He peered past the trickster, seemingly looking over the state of his accommodations. “I see that you’ve made yourself quite at home, since last we spoke.”  
“Here to check up on me so you can go write up your contemptable little report to the Allfather?”  
“Oh no, not at all.” Tivan began to stroll about the room, lightly running his fingers over the walls. He stopped for a moment, scrutinizing light yellow stains left from the soup Loki had hurled against the wall a week past.   
“Your dinner was delivered over an hour ago, prince,” he said, not taking his eyes off the grouping of splotchy blemishes, “Why have you not eaten?”  
“Perhaps I’m not hungry.”  
Tivan smirked and turned to face him. “Did I not know better, I would say that you’re a terrible liar.”  
“If you’re not here on official business, then what do you want?” Loki groused. “I’m busy.”   
“I want to talk; nothing more, nothing less. I suppose, since you’ve not eaten, we could take supper in my dining chamber. We do have some things to discuss, after all, and I wouldn’t want your father to think I was neglecting you.” He smiled. “That is how Asgardians prefer to conduct their affairs, is it not? Amidst the wild decadence of feasts, surrounded by goblets overflowing with ale, and music, and golden finery?”   
“I don’t believe it’s a secret to you that I am not Asgardian,” Loki said, his eyes glittering with malice.  
“And yet, you adopt their customs in everything from clothing to speech patterns to food preferences,” Tivan countered, “How fascinating.”  
The trickster turned away. “You can show yourself out,” he dismissed him as he would a servant, with a graceful flick of his wrist. “I’ll be going to bed now.”   
A hand latched onto his shoulder. “Not before you’ve eaten, Prince Loki.”   
“I have no desire to dine with you,” Loki snarled, pulling out of Tivan’s grip, “Frankly, I would rather starve.”  
“That could be arranged, you know.” His easy manner belied the seriousness of his words. “But I would, of course, rather not resort to such extremes.”  
Loki’s back stiffened at the threat. He was suddenly all too aware of the closeness of this cell, and his captor’s uncomfortable proximity. Tivan did not acknowledge his prisoner’s unease, though Loki privately doubted that it had gone unnoticed. Not much seemed to get by him.   
The moment lengthened, until it grew uncomfortable.   
And then, that odd, crooked smirk returned to Tivan’s lips, as if it had never gone. “Come, young prince, it is getting late, and you have an early day tomorrow. My quarters are not too far from here.”  
As if the matter were settled, he walked to the door and opened it, then stood in the hall, staring at his charge expectantly.  
Loki remained where he was, tense and wary.   
“Come,” Tivan once more urged him forth, a slight edge of impatience now evident in his tone.  
Loki glared, but followed.   
It wasn’t as if he had a choice. 

[xxxxxxx]

They made their way through the silent, twisting corridors, a long, exhausting trek that quickly began to wear on Loki’s aching body.   
“You know, if these damnable restraints were not locked around my wrists I could have teleported us there in an instant,” Loki complained, frowning at Tivan’s back.  
“True.” He shrugged. “Though we both know that if I were to remove them even for an instant, you would disappear. And you’ve been such an entertaining diversion these past days. I find I’m not ready to relinquish you, quite yet.”  
“An entertaining diversion; another oddity to poke and prod for your twisted amusement, perhaps?” he sneered, pausing in his stride. “I’ve killed men for speaking lesser insults against me.”  
Tivan stopped walking as well. “The fact that you have managed to garner my attention is no insult, my prince. On the contrary, you should feel honored. I do not invite people to stay in my household very often.” His kohl-painted eyes scoured Loki’s face, as if in search of something. “You remind me of an Andolorian puzzle-box I once owned. Have you ever seen one? No, I would guess not; Asgard places little value upon such things. And yet, they are truly fascinating objects.” Tivan began walking again, forcing Loki to follow or be left behind. The trickster quickly fell into stride beside him, glaring resentfully as the man prattled on. “They take a lifetime to craft, you see, and are therefore exceedingly rare, and highly-valued among collectors such as myself. The one I owned was quite beautiful. It was polished, very lightly embellished on its surface -- an item made lovely by its uncomplicated simplicity. Of course, its true value lay in what was hidden beneath its rather innocuous exterior: layers upon layers of delicate, intricately-carved chambers and tiny mechanics, each more complex than the last. It took me years to coax it apart, and years more to fold it all back together.” He smiled, seemingly pleased with his assessment. “Yes, I do believe the comparison is quite apt.”  
“Then you are a fool,” Loki glared, “For I am no decorous bauble.”  
Amused, Tivan raised an eyebrow. “As you say.”   
They turned another corner and came to a short corridor, warmly illuminated by plain, iron wall sconces. There was a set of arched double doors halfway down, crude gold and silver inlays entwining upon its hammered metal surface.   
Tivan strode forward and made a gesture, something the trickster could not see. Suddenly, cracks and fissures began spidering outwards from the center of the door. The solid-looking metal was breaking apart as if it had been nothing more than a thin sheet of glass.   
Loki watched, astonished, as the portal finally crumbled into a pile of glittering dust at their feet.   
“After you,” Tivan gestured him forth.   
Aware he was gaping, the trickster tried to hide his unease beneath the bland expression he always adapted when mingling in the courts. “Such a gracious host,” he muttered darkly, moving forward into the large circular room.  
Stopping short just inside the door, he gazed around wide-eyed at the huge variety of rare plants, artwork, mechanical oddities, and magical relics piled upon every square inch of available space. The sounds of busy activity filled the chamber as scores of machines performed their mysterious functions, chugging and whirring and popping and bleeping.  
“If you’ll follow me through here, Prince Loki,” Tivan’s voice rang out over the mechanical cacophony, beckoning him. Loki tore his gaze away to see that the man was standing before a plain door at the far end of the chamber.  
As he moved to follow, Loki caught sight of the front entrance. The portal filled the doorway once again, despite the fact that seconds before it had been nothing more than a mound of sparkling granules upon the floor.   
A feeling of dread pulsed low in his gut as he passed the newly-sealed exit.   
Something wasn’t right here.

[xxxxxxx]

Loki and Tivan sat at a grandly appointed table. A small feast had been laid, replete with succulent-looking meats and golden ale. The trickster sat stiffly in his chair, watching with silent contempt as Taneleer eagerly tucked into the food upon his plate.  
“I received a fascinating new specimen today,” the man chewed on a mouthful of food as he made small talk, “A Dire Wraith. I have wanted one for many years but they are difficult to track, and even more difficult to capture, due to their shapeshifting abilities.”  
Scowling, Loki pushed his food around on his plate like a restless child. “You must be very pleased with yourself,” he said caustically.  
Tivan, who had been about to shove another forkful of food into his mouth, paused. “Indeed.” He stared meaningfully at Loki. “I notice you haven’t eaten anything.”  
The trickster shot a hateful glance at his captor. “As I explained before, I’m not hungry.” He crushed a pile of roasted vegetables with the back of his fork, as if to emphasize his point.  
Tivan hummed noncommittally, before setting his utensil down carefully on the edge of his plate. He sat back and studied Loki closely, a strange smile twisting his full lips. “Tell me, prince, would you consider yourself a gambling man?”  
The trickster stared, unbalanced by the abrupt change of subject. “What?”  
“Gambling. Games of chance. Do you enjoy them?” As he spoke, Tivan poured himself another cup of ale. “I confess, I’m quite the gambler myself. It’s one of a few guiltier pleasures that I allow myself to indulge in.”  
“What does gambling have to do with anything?”   
Tivan took a drink, his eyes steady on the trickster all the while, before pulling a wooden die out of his voluminous jacket and placing it on the table before him. “I would like to propose a small wager. Nothing too outrageous, I promise.”  
“Ah, but I never gamble, Tivan,” Loki responded wryly, “Not unless I’m certain I will win.”   
“I would expect nothing less, though I have no doubt that you’ll want to take this bet.” Smirking, he picked up the ten-sided die and put it down in front of Loki, who eyed it warily. “The rules of the game are simple: you choose a number at random, falling between one and ten, and then roll the die. Whoever gets the closest to rolling their chosen number, without going over, is the winner.”  
“I still don’t see the point-“  
“Which brings us to the stakes,” Tivan interrupted. “If you win, I’ll contact the Allfather and renegotiate the terms of your imprisonment here. At the moment, our contract states that you are to be my guest for at least ten years. Your victory, however, will buy you a three-year sentence instead.”   
Loki gaped. “And if you win?” he asked slowly, “What then?”  
“If I win you will clean your plate tonight, and eat every meal placed before you from now on, no refusals, no complaints.”  
The trickster stared, not quite able to believe what he was hearing. “Those stakes are a bit… disproportionate, are they not?”  
Tivan shrugged dismissively. “Perhaps. But you needn’t be concerned with that.”  
Loki’s thoughts raced, trying to see the proposed bet from all angles. No matter the outcome he would be the clear beneficiary, which made him immediately suspicious. There had to be something Tivan wasn’t telling him.  
“How do I know this gaming cube isn’t enchanted to fall in your favor?” he demanded.  
“You don’t,” Tivan replied, “I can only assure you that I do not approve of such cheap tactics.”  
“You’re a liar,” Loki scoffed, “No man values fairness above his own selfish needs.”  
“Perhaps that is true. But you can trust me and take the bet, or not; it really makes no difference to me either way. I just thought this might be a fun way to pass the evening.” The trickster glared, really beginning to despise the man’s unshakeable smugness.  
Looking down, he picked up the innocuous-looking die and weighed it in his hand, deftly moving it in between his fingers. It felt normal.  
Letting out a sigh, he placed the gaming cube back on the tabletop. “Very well. I’ll take seven.”   
Tivan’s smile widened. “And I shall choose four. Shall I roll first, or would you like to have the honor?”  
Loki reached for the die. “I’ll go first.”  
He hefted the game piece in his hand a few times and let it go with a sharp flick of the wrist. Loki watched anxiously as it rolled end-over-end, stopping just before the edge of the table.  
“Four,” Tivan announced, “Well-done, Prince Loki! You’re just three away from your chosen number. Let us see if I can beat that.” He picked up the die and rolled it across the smooth tabletop.   
A wide grin split his face as he took in the results. “Three. It would appear that I win!”   
Loki scowled at the die as if it had purposely conspired to do this to him.   
Taneleer chuckled, obviously pleased with the outcome. After pocketing the gaming cube, he reached across the table and took hold of the trickster’s sparsely-filled plate, loading it up with generous piles of exotic vegetables and spiced meats. He placed it back down in front of Loki. “Enjoy your meal, my prince.”  
Loki shot him an incredulous glare. “You truly mean to hold me to this?”  
Tivan’s lips tightened. “I do.”  
The trickster rolled his eyes, but protested no further. He leaned over his plate, eating as slowly and deliberately as possible in an effort to annoy his captor. Tivan didn’t seem to care how fast he consumed the small feast, however, as long as he continued to eat it. The man once again began prattling on about his twisted menagerie in a droning monologue that set Loki’s teeth on edge.  
“I am pondering whether to send you to the north end of my compound tomorrow,” he said, eyes intense upon Loki, “Some of the rarest specimens in all my vast collection are housed there. I am sure you would appreciate such an encounter, as a magus and a scholar.”  
The trickster huffed dismissively, shoveling another forkful of food into his mouth. “No matter where you send me I’ll be spending my day knee-deep in excrement, so I have no care where I go, one way or the other.”   
Tivan chuckled. “Nonetheless. If you are to continue to serve me, I should like to see you grow more familiar with the creatures on the north end. In time you could, perhaps, assist with some non-magical healing.”  
The trickster scoffed, raising his fork to take another bite. Without warning, a wave of nauseating dizziness rolled over him. Grunting, he shut his eyes and dropped the utensil back onto his plate, where it landed with a jarring clatter.  
“Prince Loki? Are you quite well?” The distant query barely penetrated the low buzzing in his ears.   
Raising his hands to his head, he bent over, hands clutched uselessly in his hair.   
“What. . . What did you. . .” he slurred, blinking furiously against the darkness lurking at the edges of his vision.  
“You look tired, young prince,” Tivan’s smooth voice sounded from somewhere behind him, “Time to rest.”   
He raged against unbidden sleep, finally succumbing in a limp heap upon Taneleer’s lavish dining table.

[xxxxxxx]

Tivan watched as the Asgardian prince collapsed forward, nearly falling face-first into his plate of food. His gaze roamed over the unconscious trickster, whose back muscles rose and fell in the unhurried rhythms of deep slumber.   
The man smirked, satisfied.  
Things were going exactly to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lengthy wait between chapters. Real life has intervened, as it does, and I've been left with very little time for extracurriculars. Thanks for sticking with me; I'll be working more on this, as classes begin winding down.


End file.
